


Hurt

by Siriusfanatic



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Self-Harm, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan has a bad night, but his partners are there to bring him back from the brink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys  
> A random little story here, not really connected to anything I'm working on. I wrote this piece simply because writing has always been my way of coping with shit in my life, of taking the mess in my head and rearranging it into something I can understand and process or just take away from myself.  
> I've been struggling lately, so I word vomited this. I hope you find it encouraging even if it is sad. You know me and my happy endings.

 

 

 

 

                The nights became colder more quickly this year; Storm had noted the change earlier than most, but soon it’s affect rippled through the others as well. Hank noticed that he felt a creak in his bones and joints when he woke in the morning, and it seemed harder and harder to drag himself from his bed, and especially from one of his partner’s arms.

                Remy went almost nowhere without his trench coat these days, or at least several layers. The southern man had never quite adapted to the chill of living up north. The grounds were foggy, misty and heavy with frost and rain. A continuous drizzle had been droning on for days, casting a thick grey pall over the school. Everyone felt sluggish, moody, disinterested in their usual tasks.

                Logan would have scoffed at them all; the native Canadian was never bothered by such turns in the weather or season; in fact he seemed to relish the coming of winter. But all three of his partners noticed that the man had been more stand offish of late…reserved in ways that were unnatural for the feral. They were accustomed to his grumpy moods, even his occasional bouts of complete withdrawal, where he would shut himself off from almost everyone and retreat, sometimes both physically and mentally.

                This seemed like ones of those times, even Scott and Bobby and other members of the team had noticed that Logan was less himself lately. But overtime, they had all developed their own way of coping with their teammate’s issues; it was simply part of being an X-Man. Each member came with baggage, and they all did their best to bear their burdens together. In this way they were strong; not just as a team, but as a community.

                But even the strongest links can occasionally fail.

                It was the third day in a row that Wolverine had not come home. He had remained in contact, in the barest of ways; signaling in to let them know he was alive, but not much else. He never gave any of them any details about his excursion; Xavier hadn’t handed down any orders, and currently the usual trouble makers seemed to be stewing in their own juices, or busy elsewhere.

                Storm assumed the mission was more a personal errand. Logan had more than few enemies of his own, having nothing to do with the rest of the X-Men. He could be in Tokyo, dealing with The Hand, or dealing with one of his old ghosts from the Weapon X project. He could even be up North, dealing with Alpha Flight and their nonsense.

                But for all the explanations that seemed readily available, none of them put them at ease.

                Storm and Remy were sitting in the TV room with Bobby, Scott and Jubilee, when Hank lumbered in; that familiar troubled, pensive look on his blue face. “The signal checked in again; right on time.” He sighed.

                “So why do you sound so bummed?” Bobby asked, his hand buried in the bucket of popcorn on Scott’s lap.

                “It’s just…not like him; all this silence. There’s usual some sort of message, some indicator of his position; whether he needs back up or not.”

                “Or if he’s run out of beer,” Remy added, trying to lighten the mood, though his own smile was thin. Logan being gone this long without any real communication always worried him.

                “Guys, its Wolverine. He lives for that lone wolf stuff, ya know? He’s probably fighting Ninjas and busting up a bar somewhere.”

                Scott looked at Storm; “He really hasn’t sent you any type of message since he left? It’s just the signal?”

                “Yes; everyday, like clockwork it homes in here; Logan has to activate it manually so he must be alright…”

                Scott shrugged, putting his arm around Bobby and drawing him in a little closer; “I’m sure he’s okay. But if you still haven’t had a verbal check in with him by tomorrow, maybe we should check in with Charles and see if we can’t pinpoint his location. Just to be safe.”

                They nodded, and Remy stood up stretching and frowning as he looked out the window at the cold drizzle of rain that misted across the grounds. “Ugh, dis weather makes my bones ache! Who wants somet’ing hot to drink, eh? Jubes, how about some hot chocolate?”

                The dark haired girl looked up with big eyes, grinning. “Do you mean that instant crap or the _good_ stuff you make?”

                “Remy LeBeau never makes anyt’ing “instant”, mon petite,” he grinned. She squealed in delight, knowing she could expect real melted chocolate, heavy cream and a mountain of whipped topping in her mug.

“Shit that sounds awesome! Can I get in on that?” Bobby asked eagerly. Scott kissed the younger blonde’s neck and nodded to Remy, “I’ll take a cup if you’re making it Remy. But uh…easy on the cream, okay?”

“Ever the realist, mon ami.”

Remy made his way from the couch, but caught Hank’s thick hand in his, leading him along, and nodded for Ro to follow; though the woman hardly needed the hint.

                They gathered in the kitchen as Remy set about gathering ingredients. “You have that look on your face,” Ro said, folding her eyes. “When do you want to leave?”

                “As soon as I get dis made for dem,” Gambit sighed, “I knew he felt off when he left…I shoulda said somet’ing.”

                “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Remy. When Logan goes off like this, he needs to be alone. I just hope we’re all worrying for nothing.” Ororo nodded. She looked out the window at the rain, frowning at it as her eyes became slightly misty and clouded. Within seconds the icy drizzle ceased, pale moonlight began to drift through the clouds as she willed them to part for her.

                “That will certainly help,” Hank nodded gratefully, “I’m going to see if I can’t estimate Logan’s coordinates from the signal, so we aren’t starting off blind. I should have something by the time that hot chocolate finishes Remy.”

                “C’est bon, mon amour,” Remy nodded to the man. He glanced back through the open doors back across the hall, where he could see their companions still occupied with their program. “Should we tell Scott and de others?”

                “Let’s not worry him too much yet,” Ororo nodded. “I’ll fly ahead of you and Hank, make sure the way is clear and that we’re not running into anything too unexpected.”

                “Just don’t make yourself a target, cherie.” Remy nodded.

                “I’ll have the darkness to cover me. You two worry about yourselves…”

                Remy was pouring the freshly melted mixture into mugs, filling the kitchen with the thick decadently sweet smell of melted chocolate, cinnamon and cream. It was then that Hank, who had been tinkering with the tracking monitor in his hand, gave a surprise gasp.

                Both Remy and Ororo snapped to attention, both suddenly rigid and tense. “What it is? How far is he?”

                “Not far at all…” the feral muttered, suddenly turning towards the long windows that looked out over the grounds and the lake beyond. “He’s in the god damn lake house.”

                “What? AHH shit!” Remy poured hot chocolate across his hand and hissed, quickly dousing it under the skin and cursing quietly at the burn as Storm moved hurriedly forward, looking from the monitor in Hank’s thick paw to the little cabin that was perched on the lake shore.

                “You have got to be kidding me…”

                “I’m afraid not,” Beast snorted, clearly very irritated. “He’s been hiding out there this whole time I don’t…of all the childish…”

                The rain began pounding in earnest and lightning flashed. Storm rubbed her temples tiredly, “Oh that man…what am I going to do with him?”

                “Don’t know, seems like you might have to pick straws to see which of us wants to throttle him first,” Remy sighed. “Still t’ough…hiding so close to home like dis don’t seem like him. I still say somet’ings up.”

                “Yes, no doubt he’s having one of his long brooding drinking binges in there,” Hank sighed. “I shall go and collect him; let him know that he’s shirked enough of his duties and worried us all long enough. Really…I thought we were past all this.”

                “Maybe you shouldn’t go out dere, Beasty. Yellin’ at Logan usually just gets his fur up.”

                “Yes well, he hasn’t seen _my_ fur up.” The tall blue mutant muttered, tossing the monitor onto the counter and storming off towards the door, leaving Remy and Ororo standing in his wake. Gambit hissed, chewing his lip.

                “Have a feelin’ a lot of claws are gonna come out…and Logan’s gonna be sleepin’ on de couch for a couple of days.”

                Storm poured herself a cup of chocolate from the still simmering pot on the stove and sighed heavily; “I don’t really feel too keen about sharing a bed with him myself after this…but you’re right, it does seem strange he would stay so close and yet say nothing to us.” She sipped the drink thoughtfully. “You said you thought he felt off before he left…in what way? Was he angry, distant?”

                “Non,” Remy shook his head. “He kissed me goodbye, just like always…but it seem like he didn’t want to go. Like it took effort for him to leave…like maybe he wanted me to make him stay. But I didn’t…next minute he was gone.”

                Remy could see from the look in her eyes that this troubled her as much as it had him and now he wished even more fervently that he hadn’t let himself get distracted with other things, that he had held Logan there, even just a moment longer.

                Something wasn’t right.

               

**

                Hank was moving across the grounds, already thoroughly drenched and cold down to his skin, his brilliant blue fur matted and made dark for his drenching. Part of him, of course, was relieved to realize that his lover was only at arm’s length, and not thousands of miles away, pitted against terrible odds and in constant danger. On the other however, he was _fuming_.

                He knew it was silly of him to worry about Logan; the man was virtually indestructible, and Beast had seen him spring back from injuries no other Mutant of his kind _should_ have survived. It was rarely Logan’s physical state that concerned Hank (though his profession made him keen to check on that too, regardless) but rather his mind.

                Hank had sensed his partner’s growing distance and had recognized it for what he thought it was; Logan needed periodic boughts of solitude to clear his head and refocus himself. Hank never questioned this; in fact, it was one of the healthiest practices Logan had. A little mediation, a little reflection was good for the mind and soul.

                But this…why would Logan lie about this? Why would he make up an excuse that he had business to take care of, and hold this silence and secrecy, rather than just plainly asking his partners for a little well earned space? He couldn’t think of any of them that would have denied him that, if he’d only been honest.

                Things were complicated enough between the four of them…managing such a relationship was a full time job in fact; there was no room for secrecy, no room for lies that caused needless worry…

                Hank came to the door of the little cabin and rapped harshly upon it with his fist. “Knock knock! Anyone at home!?” he shouted above the steady din of rain that was filling his ears. No answer, no rustle of movement from inside.

                McCoy frowned and sniffed the air deeply. Yes, he could smell Logan inside, though the rain and the smell of the lake and surrounding woods was muddling it. He pounded on the door again, this time making a thunderous sound against the wood.

                “Dammit Logan, the jig is up! Just let me in, I’m soaked to the bone out here and no one likes the smell of wet fur!”

                Still no answer.

                Hank felt his face become hot and he growled, his teeth showing. “Fine. You want to be stubborn about it—“

                He grabbed the knob and pulled a hard as he could, ripping the door from it’s hinges and tossing it aside into the muddy grass. He stepped into the threshold and shook himself like a dog, ridding himself of excess water and spraying everything within three feet of the entrance.

                “Alright then! Party is over, time to put down the beers and put on your spandex like a big boy Wolverine, there’s actual _work_ that needs doing and…”

                Hank immediately forgot what he was going to say next. The interior of the cabin was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp in the far corner of the main room, and the faint glow of embers from the dying fire in the fireplace. There were of course, dozens and dozens of beer cans…and whiskey bottles…four that Hank could see, all empty, littering the floor and end table.

                At least one of the arm chairs had been reduced to little more than stuffing, shredded fabric and kindling and Hank cringed when the smell of the place hit him, no longer muted by the rain. A heavy, stifling mixture of whiskey, vomit and blood…

                “Logan…?”

                Hank moved a little further into the cabin and saw his lover lying on the floor, claws extended, and freshly bloodied.

                Beast thrust aside the broken furniture and dropped down next to the man, somewhat relieved to see that he was at least somewhat conscious, though he didn’t seem entirely aware that Hank was there.

                “Where are they? How many?” Beast whispered, crouching over his lover protectively, trying to discern any other movement in the dark cabin, fearing there was some unseen enemy lurking just beyond his vision. He could smell nothing now but Logan and blood. His lover was red with it, smeared head to toe. There were open wounds, actively healing on him as he bent over him, most notably deep wounds in his arms and chest.

                “Talk to me, honey, I need to know where they are. Who is it, Deathstrike? Sabertooth? Logan, can you hear me?”

                Wolverine’s blood slick hand slowly curled over Hank’s thick paw and squeezed it lightly. “No one here, Beasty…” he wheezed.

                Hank nodded, thinking that the coast was all clear and sat back hurriedly on his haunches, gingerly rolling the dark haired man beneath him over to have a better look at him. It seemed like Logan had been stabbed in the chest and stomach repeated, there were long gashes that crisscrossed his torso, others that raked his arms. All were healing of course, but the deepest ones must have been fresh; Hank could still see muscle and tissue exposed and the amount of blood that had soaked the carpet beneath them told the doctor that his lover had been bleeding heavily for quite awhile…

                McCoy leaned close to his face, trying to get his partner to focus on him as he gathered him up, “It’s alright, I’m taking you back to the house and we’ll get you cleaned up…”

                Logan shook his head faintly, “I’m sorry…” he managed to mutter, voice still broken and thick sounding. His lungs must have been punctured at some point, still filled with blood and fluid.

                Hank didn’t understand, brushing it off as delirium brought on by shock. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the splattered couch and rushed towards the door, Wolverine tucked safely in his arms, expecting any minute to have something pounce upon him, whether it be one of the Brotherhood, Creed’s pack, or some ghastly new form of government weapon sent to destroy them.

                But nothing at all moved after them as Hank went bounding across the lawn again, keeping Logan tucked close, sheltered between his body and the blanket he’d wrapped him in. He burst through the nearest door, which opened into the same entertainment room that Bobby and the others were all sitting in.

                Jubilee let out a startled little scream, letting her nearly empty mug of chocolate fall to the floor. Scott and Bobby were both on their feet as Hank swept inside and nodded to them both with wide eyes; “Emergency protocols, lock us down Scott, now!”

                Cyclops of course did not have to be told twice. Tapping the comlink that was programmed into his visor, he let the rest of the staff know that a threat had come against the school, as he moved towards the nearest alarm panel, punching in his code that immediately initiated all of Hank’s security protocols.

                “Oh my God, Logan! What happened to--!” Jubilee was in instant panic as the state of her mentor registered in her startled mind, and she rushed after Hank, but Bobby caught her and held her back, noting the blood that was dripping on the floor in Beast’s wake.

                “I don’t think you oughta look right now, Jubes. Come on, help me with the rest of the students, right?”

                She nodded faintly, remembering that she and Bobby were both senior members, who needed to guide some of the younger students to safe areas and give instructions in cases like these.

                Remy came rushing along the hall then as Scott was making his way towards the doors. Gambit gripped his arm to keep himself from completely colliding with him. “What’s going on? We under attack?”

                “It’s Logan,”

                The Cajun’s ruby and black eyes widened, suddenly moving from nervous apprehension to instant dread. He gripped Scott’s arm harder, “Where? Where is he?”

                “Hank has him, but Remy—!”

                Gambit didn’t wait, he was off at a run and Scott knew he was helpless to stop him, so he trotted after him.

                “How bad?” Remy asked when he felt the man catch up to him, matching his long stride.

                “Not sure. A lot of blood…”

                “Merde…”

                Students were shuffling hurriedly past them in the corridor, and abruptly Kitty Pryde materialized through the wall, blinking at both of them. She was already dressed in her pajamas, looking like she had just gone to bed. “What’s happening? Do we need to suit up?”

                “I don’t know,” Scott answered, “Help Bobby and Jubilee with the younger kids, meet in Xavier’s office, five minutes!” he called back. She nodded and vanished through another wall at a run.

                Remy was heading directly towards the medical bay, since that seemed the first place Hank would take Logan if he was injured.

               

                They arrived in almost record time, Remy barely waiting for the sliding doors to open more than a sliver before slithering between them and looking frantically for his other two partners. He noted the blood drops that splattered across the floor, leaving a splattered and smeared trail that lead him on.

                He was quick to get an empathic reading; mostly coming from Hank. The prevalent emotion was shock, cut with a mixture of outrage and remorse. Scott tried to reach for him, hold him back until Hank emerged from beyond the partially obscured wall that sheltered the hospital beds, but Remy wouldn’t wait.

                Hank emerged just as he stepped to the curtain, his eyes big and round and haunted, his still damp fur dyed a ruddy purple from all the blood that had soaked into it. He looked down at Gambit, struggling for words, some explanation to give him.

                Remy looked past him and saw Logan, bloody and wrapped in a blood soaked blanket, lying on the hospital bed. He seemed awake, but deeply dazed, looking at no one and nothing. Remy shouted and pushed past Hank’s limp arm, falling onto the bed next to his lover.

                “Logan! Cher…dieu…what happened? Who did dis!?”

                Logan’s bloodshot and glazed eyes gazed at his face for a moment, then slid shut as he wrapped his hands around the leaner man and pulled him down close, hugging him hard. Remy held him close, face in his hair, Logan’s face buried against his collarbone. Wolverine took in a dry sob that shook him and muttered something he couldn’t quite understand at first.

                “I didn’t want you to see…”

                The words were small and lost; not at all like Logan. But they were his all the same. Remy latched on hard then, eyes wide. He felt it hit him, like a punch to the gut. There was no attack, there was no supervillain waiting just outside to finish Wolverine off. The wounds were all self-inflicted.

                “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see. Any of you…I’m sorry.”

                Gambit shushed him quietly and kissed his hair and forehead and looked to Hank, who still seemed to be reeling in shock. “Hank…” Remy said gently, but firmly, catching the blue feral’s attention. “Go tell Scott to cancel de lock down.”

                “I….what should I tell him?”

                “Whatever you need to. Get everyone calmed down, den find Storm.”

                “I should…I should look at the cuts, make sure they’re clean…they won’t heal right unless.”

                “Hank, look at me, cher,” Gambit said more seriously. “Go tell Scott. Find Storm. Dat’s all we need right now.”

                Beast nodded slowly and moved off, leaving Remy alone with Logan in the room. After a moment or two, mastering his own shock and quickly putting a lock down on his empathy to keep from being even more overwhelmed than Hank, he reached to the counter next to the bed and pulled out several towels, which he then used to start moping up the blood that painted Logan’s tan skin.

                Wolverine shivered, but otherwise remained passive. He seemed sick, almost catatonic…it frightened Remy to him this way. Logan kept close to him, keeping a grip on Remy’s figure in someway, as if needing an anchor, something tangible to cling to keep him from drifting away all together.

                By the time Remy had cleaned away most of the blood, the wounds were only a distant memory, leaving virtually no trace of themselves save for a few lingering pale pink marks that would vanish soon enough.

                He felt Logan give his arm a little squeeze then, bringing his attention back to the man’s face. Logan was looking at him with those pale blue blood shot eyes, his expression sad but completely serious. “I gave in. It hurt too much. Don’t hate me.”

                Remy blinked slowly, keeping his lips pressed tight together to keep his composure and nodded, leaning back to kiss the man’s lips and forehead again as he settled beside him, taking off his coat and wrapping the battered man in it. “Could never hate you, cher. You close your eyes now, I got you.”

                Wolverine nodded, nestling his head under Remy’s jaw and closing his eyes fully, his tense body starting to relax at last in his lover’s embrace. Gambit waited until he felt the man relax fully before letting his own tears run freely, sobbing hard for several minutes. He knew that pain; he knew it well And he didn’t wish it on anyone else in the world.. Least of all the man he loved the most.

 

***

 

                Logan slept the rest of the night and well into the next day, practically undisturbed. They had moved him out of the medical bay and into Hank’s room, which was larger and more private, not to mention more accommodating for Remy, Ororo and himself as they took turns looking after their lover.

                It was almost lunch time, though no one would have known it for the heavy rain and dark clouds that continued to swirl outside, before Logan came back to himself.

                Remy was gone, but he was not alone. This time it was Storm who was beside him. The woman was sitting curled beside him in the large bed, reading a book. Logan watched her for a moment, collecting himself. He was almost afraid to move, or breathe too loudly, not sure he was ready for this.

                But her eyes glanced towards him automatically, and the moment she realized he was awake, her book was forgotten. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and he looked up at her, not knowing what to expect. But he saw on her face the worry he had caused her; the pain and the anguish of fearing for his health and safety, and regret stabbed at him more deeply than his claws ever could.

                “Ro…” he brushed his knuckles lightly along her knee. “…”

                “You could have come to me.” She said plainly, looking down at him. She did not seem angry, but Logan knew there was anger in her. He could smell it, feel it. It was deserved, warranted, even if now was not the time to address it. She brushed her fingers through his hair; “Why didn’t you come to me?”

                Logan sat up after a moment , staring across the room, all remnants of the pain he’d inflicted upon himself long faded from his body, even if it lingered in his mind. “Ya say that like it’s the easiest thing to do, darlin’. But it’s just the same old sad song and dance. What’s the point?”

                “To unburden yourself, to actually _deal_ with your feelings? Logan…I can’t pretend that I can know all the pain you’ve suffered in your life, none of us can, but you _know_ we’re here for you. Would you have turned any of us away if we had come to you like this, even if you had heard it all before?”

                “Of course not,” the dark haired feral answered, almost fiercely.

                “Than why would you ever expect any less from us?”

                He sighed, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside him, echoing with a weight that seemed like it was slowly crushing him. “It ain’t as simple as that for me. I know how to handle myself, even when I get to feelin’ bad, for whatever the reason. Lately…been remembering more and more about my past. God, it all piles up…all the shit I done, all the shit that was done to me….but it’s still all broken. Fragments, pieces here and there….some fit together, some don’t. Some don’t even seem real.” He rubbed his head tiredly, frowning. “It’s exhausting. You got no idea. Who am I? _What_ am I?”

                She moved closer to him, laying across his back, her arms around his waist, head against his neck and shoulder. “You’re Logan. Always.”

                “Ain’t so sure no more…” he muttered.

                “Is that why you did this?”

                He frowned, not answering her right away. She held him fast, waiting patiently, kissing his skin and mourning the idea that he could hate himself enough to cause such injuries. She didn’t know if knowing he would heal made the idea better or worse. It seemed so futile.

                “Pain in yer body is easier to deal with than pain in your mind…I got angry. I didn’t want to go lookin’ for trouble…not when things have been so good for us all lately. I didn’t mean it to go so far…it just happened.”

                “Logan,” she whimpered, she turned him to face her and kissed him. “Please…please promise me you won’t do this again.”

                The dark haired man hung his head and then slid away from her, climbing out of the bed and looking around for his shirt; “I don’t want to lie to you.”

                She felt that twinge again, that anger that burned hot in her stomach and throat and made her want to yell, want to scream at him, to slap him and make him understand how terrified they had all been, how much she was hurt and afraid for him.

                But she didn’t. He gripped the sheets in her hands and exhaled slowly. Anger was not what Logan needed, even if it was what he expected. “You’ve done this before?”

                He paused, finding his flannel and pulling it over his shoulders, and then nodded slowly.

                “This bad?”

                “No. Like I said…it got outta hand.”

                “What made it worse this time?”

                She knew right away that Logan didn’t want to answer, the way he tensed, the way he looked anywhere but at her, the scowl on his face. “Just memories. Bad memories.”

                “Charles said this is common…you should talk to him.”

                “I don’t want a headshrink..” he muttered. “I just want to deal with it my own way. Like I always have.”

                “But it’s hurting you.”

                Logan scoffed slightly. “Pain helps me focus; snaps me back. Sometimes hurtin’ ain’t as bad as ya think. Sometimes I got rage that ain’t aimed at nobody but myself…so who you think deserves the claws, huh?”

                It took her a long moment to find the words, there were so many that rushed to her mind, so many that wanted to pour from her heart. But this wasn’t about her. She didn’t have the answers, she didn’t have the cure. All she could do was what she had always done. She took his hand and pulled him in and kissed him. “I love you. So much.”

                “I love you too, darling.”

                They simply held each other a moment and then Logan sighed again as he dislodged himself. “How about our boys? They okay?”

                “Remy has spent most of the morning talking to Bobby and Jubilee…they saw Hank you bring in, they were very concerned.”

                “Shit.”

                “And Hank…is quiet shaken.”

                “I’ll go talk to ‘em.”

                “Do you want me to come with you?”

                He considered a moment, then shook his head. “You look tuckered out, sweetheart. You catch up on sleep…this is my mess. Now I gotta clean it.” He started out the door, but she caught him and pulled him back, hugging him hard and kissing him deeply, and he felt tears on her cheeks.

                “If I ever lost you…”

                “You won’t, Ro. I’m sorry about it all…I ain’t goin’ anywhere, not with you and Remy and Hank holding on to me…I love you all.”

                They walked down the hall together, and in the light of day the old school halls looked somehow different. Logan hadn’t come completely out of the darkness…maybe he never would. But the storm had passed, and things were a little brighter now, a little clearer. He squeezed Ororo’s soft hand in his thick rough one affectionately as they spotted Remy and Hank sitting together, talking.

                The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but that had never been his path anyway. The important thing now was that he was not alone. And when he fell into that darkness again there would be hands reaching for his, ready to pull him back out.


End file.
